


Death Death Ditties

by Coffin Liqueur (HP_Lovecats)



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: /r/FanFiction Challenge, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-24 12:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21338608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HP_Lovecats/pseuds/Coffin%20Liqueur
Summary: A series of Hazbin Crew-themed drabbles and one-shots for r/FanFiction's November 2019 Daily Prompts.
Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Charlie Magne, Angel Dust & Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 6
Kudos: 155





	1. The Way To A Man's Heart...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 1st. "Beverage and Leverage"; 100 words.

"That's all it takes, huh, kitty-cat."

Angel was all teeth, on four elbows on the bar, four hands squishing two fluffy cheeks. His boots kicked under his stool.

He leaned into half a' those hands - slanting his head. He lifted his eyebrows. "A wink and a drink, eh?" He winked - tooooootally demonstratively. Husk squinted. "A beverage fo' leverage?"

The cat rumbled - wuddn't a purr.

He held the bottle higher aloft next to him. Pupils skating to it.

_CHEAP BOOZE._

Eyes snapped back to Angel.

"You didn't see shit."

Smirk.

"Mmm, may-haps you oughta buy my silence with a drink, handsome."


	2. When The Whistle's Gonna Blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 2nd. "Thunk"; 250 Words.

_Evvvverything_ lands the same on a wooden floor.

It doesn't taste too dissimilar under the right cocktail of any Cajun spice blend worth its salt _(laugh, studio audience!)_, either - no, the meat isn't the star of the show!

Maybe killing _had_ become all the same to Alastor by the time he had met his _oh so untimely_ and yet _oh so timely end_ \- but really, can he be blamed? When times are hard, all meat is... well - it certainly isn't all _good_, but it _is meat!_

It wasn't his first rodeo, either, when it started. Not hunting - he appreciated a bit of _sport_ as much as the next gentleman, _and_ a good bit of venison! Hell, not even _murder!_ But there _is_ a first time for everything - including blending the two quite this way.

He sliced a throat, he hauled a body home, dropped it on the floor with a _thunk_, gathered up the tools for separating parts and carving up a feast.

Why, poor Mother hadn't eaten in a week - and then there he'd stopped by, presenting her with a pot of fire-colored rice dotted with dark, dark meat, asking if she would approve of his _rendition_ of what she'd taught him. She did.

He'd smiled one of his biggest smiles, at some sort of _theory_ resolved that he hadn't quite known he was testing.

Ha... perhaps that was... well, _that_, wasn't it? The conclusion he wore in his new immortal form.

Everything's a game, and everyone is game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, by the way, comes from the song ["Easy Come, Easy Go"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9zDXgZvtTU) by the Decemberists, which has quickly come to feel... Alastor-vibes-y to me. 8|a


	3. Draw Thy Tool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 3rd. "Shakespearean"; 500 words.

"Maybe it isn't just about Alastor. Maybe -- I was..."

Vaggie spoke in the hushiest of hushes to Angel. She looked in fast movements over each shoulder - sank down, eye still in its corner, biting her lower lip.

He let his mouth slant downward. Re-examined the foyer.

Charlie was napping like a Satanic little cherub at the front desk. Husk was plastered on the floor. In more ways than one.

Over by the door, Al was pattin' little Niffty on the head.

Despite her best efforts, the whole damn room still fuckin' reeked of cocaine-laced wine. Angel smirked. Flicked his eyes back Vaggie's way.

Vaggie twitched one more look back over at Oh-Deer-Lord. Knit her brow. She swooped in a little closer to Angel on the couch, hand up to her mouth to cup a whisper.

"...Maybe I wasn't looking forward to hiring _ anyone _ on the spot. Maybe -- with the passion project of someone I love dearly on the line, maybe instead of adding sinners off the street to _ our team_, I was... you know..."

Vaggie glanced aside again. She grimaced, lips twisting. Wincey.

Scooted a little closer, shaking her head. "...Hoping we could -- " Doubling down on the _ thinness _ of that _ whisperiness _ . " _ ...keep our inner circle a little tighter...? _"

Angel laughed like a cockatoo squawks. Vaggie jumped back, hands up.

He lounged back further. Made like he was inspecting his nails through the tips of his gloves.

"...That gets pretty hard to _ do _ when you're in the biz," he said. A flick in the air, as his voice peaked. “Hell, I figured _ you’d _ know that ‘much as I do.”

“What _ biz_.”

Wasn’t much of a question. There her eyes went right back from big ‘n buggy to narrow.

Angel flashed a smile. Pointed two fingers outward on lazy-limp wrists; other two hands laced behind his head. “Ahhhhh, you know!” A teeny tart _ chirp _ entering his inflection. “It ain’t like _ I _ain’t worked any kinda hotel before! All the demons you serve?”

“Angel…”

“Goin’, ahh, _ in and out _ all day?”

“For _ fuck’s _ sake,” Vaggie croaked - one hand between her bangs and face.

“Yeah, you _ wanna _ provide tight service…” Angel let both eyes and cut a’ his grin fall all _ lazy_. _ Languid_. Shook his head. “...but I tell ya, toots, that inner circle’s gonna feel itself gettin’ stretched _ someday_…!”

“Yeah. I know.” Curt. The mothbabe nodded on _ beats _ into her hand. “ _ My _ bad for still counting on you not to succumb to your urges to derail -- “

“Uhhh, what was that?” Angel arched a brow. Mouth tilted.

Vaggie’s breath _ huffed_. Pink eye sharp again ‘n leering between her fingers. “...My bad for still counting on you not to succumb to - “

“Can’t hear ya, babe, you’re gonna have to run that by me again.” Head-tilt.

** _“My bad for coun-ting on you not to suc-cumb -- !”_ **

Angel halfway spat another laugh between his teeth. High as his chin.

“Now, that’s your _bad_, all right!”

Singsonged and open-throated.

As a growl preceded a fist right in his face.


	4. Rasputin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 4th. "Verisimilitude"; 350 words.

_Objectively_, he’d been helpful.

Niffty seemed a sweetie. Husk…? Heh - Husk had room to grow. But that was… still the point, right? Charlie bet he was a big ol’ fluffy teddy under all the liquor and attitude.

She liked them.

She liked him, too. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t judge. _All_ he’d done was _help_ so far - and smile and dance and laugh. All things she _got_. They _spoke_ to her! Heh… _sung_ to her, rather, eh…?

“Just… listen to the words next time,” Vaggie had said, about that.

And the funny thing about that was… she _had_. His _words_ weren’t as nice as his jazzy groove ‘n pomp ‘n prance, no, but… sometimes, it’s all in the delivery. He didn’t sing like a destroyer, or a saboteur, or whatever - and a musical number… showcases a showman or leading lady’s _true character_, right?

Nothing he sang, too, was anything he hadn’t said.

Whatever he was, Alastor wasn’t _two-faced_.

Was he…?

She’d told Vaggie all of that. Reminded her that she knew the way the world and the people… well, demons in it worked. Hey - that’s why she wanted to make a change, right?

_Listen to the words next time,_ though…

_Next time._

She inspected the piano keys under her loosely-curled fingers half-_gravely_, half-_gingerly_. Like they’d jump up and bite if she pressed them. Like they were some kind of…

_...Necronomicon-ritual-typing keyboard._

And lo -

“_Charlie_, my dear, paralyzed by the _sheer freedom of choice_ your extensive musical knowledge _no_ doubt provides you?”

She froze like a spooked kitten _-_ ducked over the keyboard.

Alastor practically _glowed_ in the dark hallway. Grinning like a scarlet fox. His head tilted a couple degrees.

Her mouth dropped open, and he high-strutted in, cane and free hand aloft with his chin. _Ta-daaaaaaaaa…!_

“Perhaps _I_ could play a few while you’re making up your mind; I have a few old favorites I’m _sure_ you’ll find ab-so-lute _charmers…!_”

Some reflex dropped her hands right into her lap.

His claws _tacked_ the keys; she didn’t flinch, she bounced.

_Listen close_ was struck to a wide, bright _share me a song._


	5. In Every Job That Must Be Done...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 5th. "Peruse"; 250 words.

“_IIIII spyyyyyy with myyyyy big ol’ eye…_”

Niffty’s steps squeaked. Like her shoes were wet. She marched over the carpet in a meandering course, back bent forward ninety degrees.

Charlie and Vaggie raised matching brows in sync. Shared a look, turned back out to look over the foyer, also synced.

Niffty shook her head.

...While cooing “_ooh, ya-hm, ya-hm”...?_

Charlie knit her brow. Touched a fingertip to her lips.

Vaggie flicked her another look - half-sidelong. Own browline uneven, arms crossed.

Looked almost like the little thing was playing some kind of game.

She _squeaked-squeaked-squeaked_ onward. Her arms swayed straight out at her sides, inverted-metronome-style. Her path was somewhere in between an oval and a figure eight.

A _snap_ cut the air. Charlie seized - quick exchange of looks with Vaggie, her own eyes popped - as Niffty’s steps picked up from squeaks to _patter-patter-patter-patter-patters_. Just like that, there was no course anymore - just a candy-apple blur going from wall to wall, up and down furniture and drapes and in and out of bookcases.

“_TIME_!” crowed - ...Alastor, of course it was Alastor, right behind them.

Niffty mini-thundered right between Charlie and Vaggie like a bullet.

They turned, and behind them, the room _scintillated_.

Ahead of them, now, Alastor held Niffty up by the back of her dress. She smiled at them in a perfect broad, deep-bent “C”.

“Fastest spot-cleaner in the west,” Alastor said. A little tip of his head aside for presentational flair.

Grin as warm-sizzling as that over-blanket of radio static.


	6. Anything You Can Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 6th. "Backfeifengesicht"; 400 words.

Well, now - _this…!_ Was already interesting.

_Quite_ interesting, Alastor thought. He said it with the decisive lock of his smile and the deliberate arch of his brows, each time it came up. Not _explicitly_ quite yet a _thrilling_ kind of interesting - but… certainly an _intriguing_ kind of interesting. It wasn’t mindless entertainment - and how long it has been since he’d had a challenge!

...He wasn’t quite sure how to process it, quite frankly! But - well… any intelligent demon could _surely_ appreciate the tingle!

...You see -

Charlie was _easy_ \- in exactly the way he’d _expected_ she would be, and yet, *oh-*_**ho**_, such a _refreshing_ one! He hadn’t encountered such an innocent mark in _increasingly-nearly-a-__**century**__! Ahh_, to be demon-born; how… well - _tastily-ironically human_ it seems to make you!

Vaggie! Well… now, ha -- … Vaggie was even _easier_.

Vaggie was exactly the kind of person who’d steered him toward developing his philosophy - of understanding that you’re never fully-dressed without a smile, before the damn play even came out! How it _spoke to him_ once those lyrics first hit his ears! You’re not naked and vulnerable to the world so long as you wear a smile! Vaggie so clearly _wanted_ a fight - and yet, ohh, so quick was she to drop her armor. To fight with anger was a _savage’s_ way, dear.

This left Angel Dust.

...And -- !

(His eyes narrowed - his grin focused centralized to pinch the bridge of his nose.)

_...Angel._

Curiously, curiously…!

...was _not_ “easy”.

(...Like _that_, anyhoo! Ah-_ha_-ha-ha-haa_aaa…!_)

...But _no_ \- it wasn’t enough that Angel hadn’t known who he was. It was a _great big Hell_ out there! It was often that Alastor encountered devils of all ages who hadn’t had the fear of… _him_ put into them yet.

But they quickly learned. Oftentimes, all it took was that _poise and a smile._

Angel, however, had his _own_ poise and smile.

And he’d gotten there first.

Using that _wiggle-room_ Charlie allows for. Showing Vaggie that the _real_ boss is whoever’s ready to _laugh_ first.

...And was worst.

(The air condensed around him; static crackled…!)

Angel was the first demon in so long to toss him _defenseless_.

Not in a fight, no - he knew he could _stomp_ the spider in a fight! That wasn’t even a question!

...Angel spotted him - in the corners of both their eyes.

Grinned - waved. “Heyyyyy, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.” Cheeky brow-arch.

...Alastor’s grin slyly warped.

_Don’t try._


	7. Charlie's Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 7th. "Scaramouche"; 500 words.

“You, Angel? You’re  _ exactly  _ \-- the kinda guy who talks a big game, but when something actually matters?”

Angel rolled his eyes Vaggie’s way. Lazy - pussycat-like.

_ Spit it out, toots. _

Her hair was bractically bristlin’. (What kinda bugs  _ bristled…? _ ...He split a grin.)

“...You  _ chicken out _ ,” she snapped.

(Shit, she had  _ teeth  _ like no kinda moth he’d ever seen, too…!)

His lips twisted split-apart wider for a sec, on one side. His golden fang flashed. All the while, he un-turned to face forward again - lounged back in the low red chaise and stuck his arm out the window.

“Aaaaaaaaah,  _ chicken _ ,” he said. Dully. Wagglin’ his cigarette free a’ the freebase ashes. “How  _ dare  _ ya. How will my pride ever bounce back from such a call-out.” He froze for a moment - the smoke dancin’ up off his cig in silence as his lips thinned. Then moved in a wave - a likewise silent scoff of a chuckle that pulled into his eyes and narrowed ‘em. “What -- you gonna do the whole dancin’-and-cluckin’ routine, too?”

He tossed his head back Vaggie’s way - propped his chin up on the back of his hand with the flick of a wrist and leaned.

“This might blow your mind?” She swayed a tad - planted her hands on her hips. Cocked on a’ the latter. “But I’m not trying to  _ insult  _ you. I  _ haven’t  _ been.”

“Ehhhh-nope.” His eyelids shut, dusted powder-lavender - he held ‘em that way as he pulled back in, re-lounging half-leaned forward, pulling the cigarette back to his mouth. Thoughtfully. “You’s just using loaded terminology like  _ chicken  _ for a fella who’d hop in the line of fire for a pal.” A flutter of jazzhands tossed into a light shrug. “And has seen about -- aaaaaa million or so firefights! Yup - total chicken.”

He threw a damn fire blanket over his mind - get it all nice and blanked-out. And with that, he took himself another hit - nice and long,  _ thaaaaat’s _ right, baby, that’s right…

And there Vaggie’s voice went keepin’ on snipping through it.

Hoh, boy.

“A ‘fella’ - “ God, the airquotes were  _ palpable…! _ “ - who’s deflecting me by being a smartass and sitting there smoking  _ crack  _ instead of giving some thought to what might be holding him back from staying on the path to redemption? As usual?”

He popped one eye open - a half moon under a high-arched eyebrow. Looked back out at her sidelong ‘n blew the smoke outta the corner of his mouth.  _ Whoooooohhhhh… _

“Yeah.” Her eyes  _ shot  _ narrowed dagger-sharp. “I think he might be kind of a chicken.”

He smirked. “First of all -- “ Puffed a moment into a stretch - two arms up, two arms down…! “...You see any feathers here?”

She blinked slow. Weary. Owlish.

...Ironically enough, eh…?

“Second of all - !” His voice vibrated with a giggle. Tintin’ pink. “What’s that supposed to be me bein’ scared of? My  _ feelings  _ or some shit -- …?!

Blink.

“...Call me lazy next time,” he said. Takin’ another hit.

...Slothful, even.

Heh -- he sure was a sinner at heart, all right.


	8. Step On It.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 8th. "Fail & Bail"; 100 words.

Vaggie stared hot-cold through the limo divider till Charlie shifted against her. She looked down at the back of her head, over tight-hugged knees.

Rest a hand, feather-flick light, on the back of her shoulder. “We’re breaking the brawl,” she said.

Charlie rocked.

“We’re talking to Angel about this.”

Another rock.

...Charlie looked up - eyes kittenlike under a curtain of hair.

“...Killjoy didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Charlie sniffed.

...Smiled.

“...Nah…” Shook her head as a jingle bound upward in her voice. “I had her on the _ropes…!_”

“ -- That’s my girl…!” Vaggie said. Smiling back.

Face from hot-cold to warm-dew.


	9. Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 9th. "Buzz"; 200 words.

She hated that she could hear him coming. Hear him moving through the place.

It was just so… _insidious_.

Like he wanted to prowl around and make sure you _knew_ he was doing it. Vaggie had no doubt every move Alastor made was deliberate - or as good as.

Hell, she couldn’t know that he didn’t want her to hear the _buzzzzzz_ of static, his thick… aura of disruption pressing against the interior side of the door to Charlie’s office.

She was no wimp, and she was no dumbass. She half-ran right up to him even as she swore to god the electricity in the air put her hair on end and threw off the skips of her heart. Stopped as he shut the door behind him. Put on her business face, with that bit of brow-knit and sharpness of _I don’t like you. Don’t test me._

“Did Charlie _need_ you for something, or was that a _‘surprise’_ visit?”

“Ohh, the latter,” he said. Trailing casually. Not even fucking looking at her.

“You respect her. Stay _away_ from her.”

“But she so enjoys my company!” All teeth showing.

Eyes landing on her.

A dirge hummed low and black-red in her chest.


End file.
